William Levitt, the master builder of Levittown, taught me the true meaning of momentum.
In the 1950s, he was the king. No detail was too small for his attention. He would personally collect stray nails and extra chips of wood from building sites to make sure his construction crews used all available materials.
He sold his company in 1956 to ITT for $100 million, which is equivalent to billions today. Then he made some terrible mistakes.
He retired.
He married the wrong woman.
He moved to the south of France and lived on the Riviera with his new boat and his new wife.
One day, ITT called. The executives in charge of the conglomerate had no aptitude for home building. They had bought huge tracts of land but didn’t know how to get them zoned. So they sold it back to Levitt, who thought he’d gotten a great deal.
He went back into business. And he proceeded to go bankrupt.
I saw William Levitt at a cocktail party in 1994, two weeks before he died. He was standing by himself in a corner, looking defeated. I didn’t know him well, but I approached him, hoping to acquire some wisdom from the master. Mr. Levitt, I said, how are you doing?
Not good, Donald, not good. Then he said the words I’ll never forget. I lost my momentum. I was out of the world for twenty years, I came back, and I wasn’t the same.
No matter how accomplished you are, no matter how well you think you know your business, you have to remain vigilant about the details of your field. You can’t get by on experience or smarts. Even the best surgeons need to be retrained regularly, to stay current on the latest research and procedures.
No matter what you’re managing, don’t assume you can glide by. Momentum is something you have to work at to maintain.
My loyal assistant, Norma Foerderer.